


Like a Man

by Porkchop_Sandwiches



Series: Story Time [1]
Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Food, M/M, This would be after Hank has put Jesse in the hospital but before Andrea shows up, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, set vaguely in a happier season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:46:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3870874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porkchop_Sandwiches/pseuds/Porkchop_Sandwiches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walt displayed his right hand cautiously the way one might greet an unfamiliar puppy. “Is it okay if I touch?”</p><p>The boy’s eyebrows, looking darker than usual under the blonde side-parted bangs of his wig, pinched slightly as he took his last bite of noodles. “Since when does your pervy old ass ever ask for permission?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Man

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested by Pinkmanpizza on tumblr. I've never written anything with cross-dressing before, so I hope I was able to do it justice. This story is honestly a mess, you guys. Tread lightly ;)

Jesse had Alfredo sauce smeared on both corners of his lips with his elbows firmly on the table. He shifted a section of his honey blonde wig over his shoulder and shoveled in another heaping forkful of fettucine. Walt was honestly impressed Jesse had managed to keep his dress clean considering the ranch dressing he’d smothered his salad in, his voracious appetite for those garlic-glazed, buttery breadsticks, and now the simply barbaric way he was wolfing down his entrée. This blue dress had been entirely Jesse’s selection: hem halfway up his thighs, sleeves that fell just at his wrists, round neckline deep enough to provide an eyeful of collarbone and more so the promise of cleavage than any actual sight of breasts. Of course, Jesse hadn’t any, though his ensemble was tight enough to let Walt know Jesse was most certainly wearing a bra. His chosen shade of blue was so startlingly pale, pairing delicately with his eyes, that Walt was well aware of how badly it would stain. The boy needed to be careful.

Walt leaned over his plate of spaghetti and meatballs, perhaps glaring to a degree. “For god’s sake Jesse, eat like a lady.”

Jesse rotated his jaw in an ornery fashion, mouth still stuffed as he squinted.

He whispered, “Yo, we’re at a _fucking_ Olive Garden; chill.”

This was indeed true. More specifically, they were sitting at _the_ most shitty table at a fucking Olive Garden. It was a two-seater booth, though the surface between them was so appallingly small that Jesse needed to slot one of his knees between Walt’s for either of them to have _any_ leg room whatsoever. Servers were constantly bumping into Walt’s elbow as if he were in an aisle seat of an airplane and the air _-conditioning_ was directly above them and the neighboring men’s restroom belching out sounds of flushed urinals and whirring hand-dryers was just the shaved parmesan atop of this hellish seating arrangement.

Walt refused to take any inkling of blame. The only reason he hadn’t made a dinner reservation somewhere a little more upscale was because he hadn’t believed Jesse would pay up so-to-speak. Yes, Jesse had lost their moronic bet from the previous week on who could go the longest without caffeine, which was sealed with an official handshake down in the lab. Jesse had lasted four days before complaining of headaches and then immediately chugging a Monster with a resigned “I’d look way hotter as a chick anyways, yo.” And, he’d given Walt his word, teary-eyed and whimpering, that he would go through with it a few evenings prior when Walt had Jesse securely pinned down to the sofa as he leisurely stroked the boy to an orgasm Walt had been postponing for nearly an hour. Walt still didn’t think Jesse would really go through with it.

“That’s beside the point,” Walt said. “Regardless if we were eating in a Ruth’s Chris or a McDonald’s, in that ensemble I expect you to conduct yourself accordingly. Take dainty bites. Keep your lipstick clean. And above all else, stop slurping your pasta like some two-bit hooker drinking condensed soup in a diner at three in the morning.”

“Mr. White, wow, can you try to sound more sexist?” He took a measured sip of wine, tinting his red lipstick a more plum shade. He removed his elbows. He even straightened himself more upright in his half of the booth. “Ain’t the whole thing about like gender equality about how like chicks and dudes should be treated fairer and shit since we’re all more the same than different? Like how am I supposed to ‘eat like a lady’ when we all got mouths and teeth and shit that work the fucking same, you know?”

Walt just stared at the boy.

Jesse adjusted his bra strap and took another drink from his glass. “Whatever, yo. I read it in like _Cosmo_ or something ‘cause the salon I was at to get my legs waxed was hella crowded and they were playing a _Sex in the City_ marathon so like I had some time to kill.”

Walt swallowed a good portion of improperly chewed meatball. Coughing violently into his napkin, he gave Jesse a reassuring smile when Jesse worriedly reached out for him. Just because Walt was in remission from lung cancer didn’t mean the boy needed to call an ambulance every time Walt had a tickle in his throat. Before they’d become intimate with each other, he hadn’t a clue of how doting and vigilant Jesse could be. He had a mother’s heart. And apparently, in the right circumstances, Jesse also had the body of a high school cheerleader.

Wiping his mouth, Walt smiled when Jesse did the same. “Believe me, I’m not complaining, but what on earth possessed you to have your legs waxed?”

He shrugged. “I guess I just wanted them…to be like…extra soft…for you?”

Jesse was hesitant, embarrassed even, and Walt would be dishonest if he didn’t admit how strongly the gesture turned him on.

Walt displayed his right hand cautiously the way one might greet an unfamiliar puppy. “Is it okay if I touch?”

The boy’s eyebrows, looking darker than usual under the blonde side-parted bangs of his wig, pinched slightly as he took his last bite of noodles. “Since when does your pervy old ass ever ask for permission?”  

Maybe Jesse had been on to something with his clumsily worded argument on gender stereotypes because he was right that Walt had a habit of act first, talk never. There was no point in behaving any differently. Reaching underneath their toy-sized table, he palmed Jesse’s knee: unbelievably satiny and warm.

“Can I clear your plates?”

Their waiter was practically a shadow, and not only in the way he maneuvered around the restaurant like an unseen and unheard silhouette, but likewise in attire. Everything from his shoes to his dress shirt was black, including his hair, with his brown eyes acting as his one “clashing” exception. Walt typically didn’t pay any attention to his waiter’s eye color. But, it was hard to ignore him when the man had been flirting with Jesse all evening. Several male patrons had been paying very close attention to Jesse periodically throughout the night. Walt was honestly more intrigued than resentful. He drove Jesse here, and he’d be the one take the boy home with him tonight. They could look to their heart’s desire while they still had the chance.

“Did you enjoy your meal, _Miss_?

With his arms loaded down in empty dishes, his inquiry could have been innocent enough if he hadn’t said it in a tone as if he were actually asking Jesse if he were wearing panties. He’d stressed the word “Miss” because he’d asked Jesse for his name when he was taking drink orders and Jesse had been too flustered to say anything. The waiter ever so smoothly told Jesse that with a face that beautiful he’d call her anything. So, Walt had been witnessing this _adorable_ inside joke for the majority of an hour now.

Jesse glanced down at the table. “Yes. Thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said with a smirk. “I’ll be right out with those desserts quick as a lick.”

Walt swore the man must have been working in pornography on the side with lines like that that were practically oozing with sticky, sexual yearning.

“Dude looks like he’s about to Hulk-the-fuck-out of that shirt,” Jesse said. “Does the guy like ask for extra tip if he can lift your whole party?”

With that lecherous figure out of the picture, Walt really only now noticed the way Jesse was speaking.

Walt raised an eyebrow. “Did your article on gender equality mention anything about women talking with tiny, little Mini Mouse voices?”

Jesse rolled his eyes, which managed not to look as irksome with his dark though tasteful eye makeup. He drank from his glass and cleared his throat.

“Happy now, asshole?”

Walt gulped even though he had nothing in his mouth but his own salvia. Jesse’s new voice was the just the right amount of husky, breathy, and sweet, sounding like a genuinely gifted phone-sex operator. He had never heard Jesse make any such noise before, not in conversation, not with Jesse on bottom or on top, not with the boy in front or behind him. That last bit had been rather recent, though Walt was a man of science above all else. He enjoyed a good experiment. And Jesse had been a more than willing lab partner.

Hulk’s shadow was back to slide their desserts in front of them, giving Jesse a wink as he softly stepped away. He was still looking behind him and almost rammed directly into a man walking out of the bathroom.

“All right, why in the fuck did you get me just a tiny-ass bowl of strawberries?” Jesse said with a frown. He seemed to be unaware that he was keeping the hot-and-bothered-school-girl voice up. “Did they even have this shit on the menu?”

Walt had taken the liberty of choosing both of their desserts while Jesse had sauntered his way to the women’s restroom. Even if the boy wouldn’t admit it, Jesse knew he looked damn good in his sky blue spiky heels. He’d allegedly been practicing in his living room all week, and it showed. Jesse had glided back to the table like a fucking vision.

“I told the waiter you were watching your girlish figure,” Walt said, taking a heavenly bite of his molten chocolate lava cake.

Jesse snickered with a resigned sort of smile. “Shit’s…actually kind of funny.”

Walt spooned up a puddle of rich dark chocolate and extended it to Jesse’s bowl. Jesse scooted the dish closer and let Walt drizzle it on top.

“Thanks, man,” he said. And really now everything Jesse said was a strange mix of amusing and sexy with that pitch he was holding close to his padded chest. He seemed to inspect his fork strangely before glancing up at him. “Is it cool if I eat these with my hands?”

Walt shrugged because he assumed it wouldn’t make much of a difference. But, my god was he wrong.

Jesse had one of the larger strawberries to his mouth, swiped his tongue out at the chocolate and just lightly around the tip. Walt couldn’t recall feeling _this_ aroused so earth-shatteringly, ridiculously quickly. His gut felt as pleasantly melted as the cake on his plate. But, this was not the place to get an erection.

Looking elsewhere to take his mind off of it, he noticed the men staring back at their table. By god, Jesse nibbling on a strawberry was like releasing a drop of blood in an aquarium of sharks. It was mildly revolting, though Walt was once again struck by how he couldn’t really blame them. What with the dim overheads, and candle light, and Frank Sinatra crooning in the background, who wouldn’t want to watch this magnificent creature devour a bowl of strawberries?

Walt met Jesse’s eyes again. They were twinkling. His lips were twisted into a smirk. The boy knew exactly what he was doing.

From where Walt was sitting, he could see a middle-aged father with a boy and girl, and a woman Walt presumed to be his wife. He was shooting Jesse brief glances over his lasagna, clearly anxious about being detected by his family, but also obviously enjoying the view.

Jesse ran his teeth down the curved flesh of the fruit.

The man visibly shivered.

Walt set his hand back on Jesse’s knee and rubbed his thumb gently into the joint and, with Jesse’s attention, subtly nodded to the hoodie-wearing punk almost drooling into his Coca-Cola. His girlfriend was obliviously typing away at her cellular phone. This made it much easier for Jesse to fix full eye contact on the boy as he took a bite and licked the translucently-red juice from his bottom lip. Walt heard the stranger hiss out “ _Shit_ ” and Walt moved his hand higher to play with the hem. Jesse slightly parted his legs and Walt could recognize a game when he saw one.

Walt meaningfully directed his glance to a table of three men whom he knew of from the J.P. Wynne faculty though he’d never actually spoken to any of them. Everyone on staff called them the Trig Triplets as all of them taught trigonometry, combed their thinning hair to the same side, wore identically colored trousers, shared a potluck-lunch once a week in the teacher’s lounge, and all three of them never shut up about some program called _Battlestar Galactica_. Walt couldn’t tell them apart but the one closest to Jesse’s side blushed when Jesse smiled at him.

For that, Walt dipped his fingers under the skirt of Jesse’s dress. The second triplet’s head popped up just as his friend’s bashfully lowered. Jesse mouthed at the syrup of a fresh piece of fruit with his eyelashes quivering in faux bliss. Walt raised his hand even higher. Once the remaining member of this pathetically-single group of gentleman turned to Jesse, the boy softly sighed around the strawberry. It was neither corny nor too showy, but impossibly captivating. Geek number three almost knocked down his glass of ice water, needing to steady it with both hands.

Walt’s hand was far enough inside Jesse’s skirt to get a palm-full of inner thigh that was a delicious concoction of hard muscle and velvety heat. He felt Jesse strain to spread his legs even wider until Walt’s fingertip brushed against a fabric he was wholly unprepared for.

Jesse smirked. His eyes were glazed over. He tilted his chin down. “That’s right. Lace panties: all white, all see-through, all for you, Mr. White.”

Their faces were indecently close, and Jesse _never_ let Walt kiss him in public, and the boy’s lips were open on Walt’s. Jesse’s tongue was fluttering and probing at Walt’s lower lip and he opened up to the most intimate kiss he’d ever experienced with an audience. He thought he heard someone whisper, “Thought that dude was her dad,” and he had the vague impression that someone exiting the bathroom had stopped to gawk, but he couldn’t care less.

Thumbing the front of Jesse’s panties, he was startled to feel a flat, smooth surface.

Jesse leaned back, cringing a little. “I got it taped down. Shit, it sort of hurts…since…I’m kind of…hard now. Motherfucking shit. Why the hell was it a good idea to like origami fold my dick?”

Walt shrugged with a smirk. “I guess you didn’t want to walk around with a bulge in your dress.”

He winced and shifted in his seat. “Yo, I was into the whole under-the-table shit, but I might literally bust a nut. So, let’s talk about something else, alright?”

Walt respectfully withdrew his hand with one last parting pinch around Jesse’s knee, which the boy fleetingly rocked into.

Jesse picked up a strawberry, examined it, and then set the thing down. It seemed as if the game was over.

“So, uh, what do you think my girl name should be?” Jesse said.

“Hank.”

Jesse gave him a perplexed though thoughtful look. “Sounds more butch than my real one, yo. I was thinking more of like Jennifer or Jasmine…or Juniper. It’d be kind of cool to stick with the whole ‘J’ thing like I’m a spy with a kind of ironic codename, you know? I think I’m really digging Juniper actually, like who has even fucking heard of that name, like….”

He was pretty sure that “butch” comment was the least gender-sensitive thing either of them had said all night but he didn’t have enough time to cut through Jesse’s rambling before Hank Schrader was standing right next to Jesse in a violet polo and khaki cargo shorts.

“ _Hey,_ Walt,” he said with a cackle, hand intrusively at the head of Jesse’s seat. “You guys on a date? Taking the misses out for some fine dining? Tell me, Sky, what did this sly dog say this time to get…”

Hank seemed to actually look at Jesse enough to realize he was most certainly _not_ Walt’s ex-wife. He appeared stunned and self-conscious, chuckling awkwardly.

“My apologies, Miss. I thought you were….” He made a dismissive hand motion and scratched at his neck and was Hank _flustered_? “I was just on my way to the little boy’s room. I’m Hank, Walt’s brother-in-law. Excuse me, _ex_ -brother-in-law. He’s not married, which I’m sure you know. He could be though, _right_?”

He actually bumped Jesse in the ribs, and when Walt really thought about it, he’d never really observed Hank interacting with a woman who wasn’t Skyler or Marie. Hank was blushing.

“Hank, this is my date, Juniper,” Walt said.

He wanted to make Jesse smile, but he saw no such thing in the boy’s petrified, deer-in-headlights expression.

“Juniper, eh? I thought your name might be Coca-Cola,” Hank said with a grin, “because you’re so- _da-_ licious.”

Walt couldn’t stop from rolling his eyes as Jesse sat there stock-still and Hank playfully elbowed him again. Hank missed Walt’s reaction because he seemed to be loosening up a bit as well as leering at Jesse.

“How in the _world_ is a smoking-hot chick like you dating an old fart like my brother-in-law?” Hank laughed and took Walt’s wine glass. “Ex-brother-in-law, of course.”

Walt didn’t want to make assumptions, but Hank was displaying some telltale signs of being at least moderately inebriated. He was speaking rather loudly. Customers were glancing at them.

“Listen to me talking out of my ass. Walt’s a good guy, been a friend to me unlike a certain woman I know who has been in a _real_ bitch mood recently if you know what I mean.” Hank raised Walt’s glass. “Here’s to hoping you’re night goes better, buddy.”

It was if Marie was summoned: clanking along in her heels, dressed in her usual purple, passionately rummaging through her handbag.

“Hank, when I said I thought you were going to leave me for Mr. Beefcake-Pretty-Face-Waiter-Boy, I didn’t think you’d literally leave the table while I was still in the lady’s room. Oh hey, Walt.”

Marie was much more discerning in regards to who Walt was sitting with, expression nearly toxic before she grinned. She took the glass Hank was holding. Sniffing it, she took a sip, looked over at Jesse, and poured the wine directly down the front of his dress.

“Slut,” she said, smiling pleasantly.

She slammed the glass back on the table, grabbed Hank’s wrist and dragged him, gaping apologetically, behind her. Walt didn’t know what to do other than stare at Jesse like an idiot while the wine started to seep out of the fabric as if Jesse were bleeding Merlot.

Before he could even say anything, their table was swarmed by Jesse’s former admirers. Two of the triplets and the waiter were patting Jesse down with an array of cloth napkins, both dry and damp, arguing over the efficiency of club soda, and almost pushing each other to get closer to Jesse. The boy appeared even more horrified than before. His bust was quickly melting, brassier most likely stuffed with now soggy tissues, and their waiter’s hand was wiping further and further down Jesse’s belly even as Jesse was saying, “I’m fine, you guys. I swear. I think you got it out,” and the hands continued.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Walt said in full-on teacher mode. It froze the group as effectively as it did a hallway full of freshman. “The lady says she’s fine. We both thank you, but I can take it from here.”

Luckily, this thinned out the heard aside from Mr. Beefcake.

“I am _so sorry_ ,” he said. “I have no idea who that woman was, but your meal is on the house. Can I get you anything else?”

“Some club soda would be nice,” Walt said.

He nodded and consolingly rubbed Jesse’s shoulder before speeding towards the kitchen.

Jesse, wide-eyed and wine-stained, gave Walt the most vulnerably humiliated expression he’d ever seen from the boy. “Yo, you owe me for this one, man. Like I know I lost the bet. But, having your asshat of a brother-in-law hit on me then getting wine thrown all over my fucking dress and then getting molested in an Olive Garden was so _not_ part of it.”

“I know,” Walt said, reaching out to hold Jesse’s hand. Jesse jerked it away. “You’ve gone through a lot, I understand.”

Jesse sneered at him as he popped a whole strawberry in his mouth with an elbow back on the table.

This was _not_ the evening Walt had planned. He had every intention of making tonight a multi-destination date. He wanted to take Jesse out for mini-golf, stop by Dairy Queen because Jesse would surely be hungry again, and then give Jesse a foot massage since his feet would hurt from walking in those heels for so long. Now Walt had damage control to focus on instead.

While there was yet a great deal of untapped potential in this get-up of Jesse’s that Walt wanted to save for another time, he was looking forward to peeling back the soaked layers of this costume to just Jesse underneath. Walt missed Jesse’s stubbly face, the perpetual kitten-after-static-shock dishevelment of his hair, and the boy stretched out naked above him. He felt foolish for thinking their newly discovered positions could ever undermine his manhood in the slightest. It was impossible for Walt to feel at all emasculated when Jesse mounted him with trembling anticipation, leaking on Walt’s stomach, Jesse’s prick sliding warm between Walt’s thighs. Physical configurations be damned. Jesse was still his.

Walt leaned forward. “How about I let you fuck me tonight?”

Cramming another berry in, Jesse rolled his eyes and may have said “‘Cause that’d be totally different.”

“No, Jesse,” Walt said. “I want you to fuck me like a man.”

Walt only had to wait a second or two for understanding to dawn just as Jesse’s chewing slowed.

“For real?” Jesse was still speaking in his fluttery, Bambi voice. He coughed. “For real?”

Walt nodded, reveling in Jesse’s grin. The boy had the very same devilish, delighted spark in his eyes as he had when he’d pushed his way inside Walt for the first time.

Walt drained the last of the droplets of wine from his glass, smiled, and reiterated, “For real.”


End file.
